Grand Theft Auto: Fallen Empires
by Osiris3
Summary: A young protege of Tommy Vercetti is given a chance at a respectable future. But when his old mentor stands to lose it all, will he risk everything to return to his old ways and save him? After a ridiculously long wait, Chapters 11 & 12 now up!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Vice Beach

1987

The breeze that rolled in off Washington Beach was a distant reminder of the hurricane that had blown through Vice City a week ago. Cleanup crews from all over the country were working their way through the streets, cleaning up debris from downed trees and damaged buildings, as impatient locals forced their way in between them, horns honking in frustration. One such vehicle pulled off the main drag into a semicircular driveway in front of a building festooned with neon lights. The driver of the white Infernus tossed his keys to a valet at the bottom of the steps leading into the nightclub. The valet snatched them out of the air backhanded and nodded with respect to the driver, who climbed the steps and entered the club.

The music blared as multicolored lights arced and wove across the dance floor. The man walked around the packed floor, moving between the dancing guests without giving way to any of them. Those he bumped looked in his direction with a glare, but quickly looked away as they recognized him. He stopped at the bar and spoke to the bartender, who pointed at the door leading to the back room. The man nodded and headed back.

A muscled goon in a black suit that looked as though it was having difficulty holding itself around his body greeted him outside a door marked "Private".

"He's inside, Mr. Vercetti."

"Where did you say you found him?"

"He was trying to knock over one of the jewelry stores paying us protection money near Vice Point."

Tommy Vercetti nodded, opening the door and striding into the back room. The young man in question was tied to a chair, his back to Tommy. Tommy walked around the desk and sat down behind it to face the captive. His face betrayed a look of shock for a moment.

"Mario, you sure this is the guy? He looks like he's all of fourteen!"

"I'm sixteen, ya prick," the captive shot back.

Tommy's eyebrows climbed his forehead for his hairline. "What did you just call me, kid?"

The captive was unfazed. "You heard me, cocksucker."

Tommy blew out a barking laugh. "That's a hell of a mouth you got there, fella. Do you even know who you're talking to?"

The young man nodded. "I'd be an idiot if I didn't."

"Well, your intelligence is already in question, since you tried to rob one of MY stores, so let's not go there," Tommy advised him. "Now, all sarcasm aside, since we've established who I am, who the fuck are you?"

"What's it to you?" the captive spat.

A sharp backhand. The kid never saw it coming, because he wasn't expecting Mario to move that quickly. The next sound he heard was a snicking of a safety as the barrel of a 9mm was pressed to his head. Tommy was still sitting across the desk, hands folded, impassive. "It's really none of my business, is it? I mean, you try and knock over one of my businesses, take money away from me and my guys, and I have the audacity to have them drag you in here and give you a chance to explain yourself instead of blowing you away on the street like a common thug. How rude of me to ask for your name before I have Mario repaint the room with your brains. Forgive me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment to attend to. Mario, please wait until I leave the room to off this kid, would ya? It took the dry cleaner three tries last week to get the grey matter out of my other suit."

"Wait!" the kid cried as Tommy got to his feet. He stopped, seating himself again.

"You got a problem with Mario spraying your head around the room?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah," the young man replied. "I'm fond of it staying on my shoulders."

Tommy half-smiled, but didn't wave Mario off. "Fine. Let's start this over. What's your name, kid?"

"Colin. Colin Fox."

"OK, Colin. Any particular reason why you chose that jewelry store? Better yet, any reason why you're out doing this at sixteen, instead of, say, playing football, doing homework, banging a cheerleader, or any one of a hundred other perfectly normal pastimes that somone your age might be participating in?"

"I don't have time for school, or girls," Colin replied. "I've got to make a living."

"That's what most kids have parents for," Tommy observed.

"Most kids' parents are worth something," Colin shot back. "My father left when I was 6, and my mother's in rehab. They tried to put me in a foster home when they locked her up, but I ran away. I've been living on the streets for three years."

Tommy nodded. "And how have you been surviving all this time?"

Colin shrugged. "A little of this, a little of that. I was doing runs for Diaz, delivering product to his customers, until you came into the picture and ended that for me."

At the mention of Diaz's name, Tommy tensed up. Mario's gun dug a little deeper into Colin's temple. "Hey, you asked, I answered," he protested.

"So, you were loyal to Diaz?" Tommy pressed.

"Not really," Colin replied, trying to be nonchalant despite the gun pressed to the side of his head. "He didn't like me working for anyone else, so I didn't. It was a good gig. My money didn't give a shit where it came from."

"So, if you didn't have any loyalty to him, what the hell makes me think that you'd be loyal to me if I let you go?" Tommy asked. "Hypothetically, I mean. I'm not saying I will, mind you."

Colin shrugged. "Not a fucking thing. I've been on the streets long enough to know that money doesn't buy loyalty in a town like this."

Tommy smiled again, waving to Mario. The gun withdrew from Colin's head and was holstered under Mario's tight-fitting jacket. Colin streched his neck unconsciously, angling away from where the gun had been.

"You've got balls, and you've got honesty, kid," Tommy observed. "Anybody else, in your position, woulda been begging for mercy, swearing allegiance to my snot rag if they thought it'd save 'em. Not you, huh?"

Colin shrugged again. "What would be the point? If I told you that, and you found out I was lying to you, You'da just offed me later, and probably made it hurt more. I figure, let's just get it out of the way now, and you can put one in my skull, and it'll save us time and hassle later."

Tommy shook his head. "Haven't come across one like you in a long time, kid. You sound like me at that age." He just sat for a minute, assessing Colin. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind. "You got any squeamishness about killing people, Colin?"

Colin shook his head. "I've done it once or twice. It's not great if you get any on your shoes, but I can deal."

Tommy nodded, and then pulled a 9mm from inside his coat. Colin flinched, but Tommy aimed around him and fired quickly. Colin craned his neck around to see Mario slumped against the wall, clutching his gun arm and looking at Tommy in surprise. He reached across his body with his good arm to grab his pistol, but Tommy fired again, this time catching him in the forearm. Mario grunted and sat still, bleeding quietly. He continued to stare up at Tommy with a questioning look.

Tommy got up from his seat and pulled a switchblade from his pocket. Deftly, he walked around the desk and sliced through the ropes holding Colin to the chair. Colin rose slowly, uncertainly, as he rubbed his wrists to get circulation back to his hands.

Tommy continued walking, past Colin, to Mario. He reached into Mario's holster and yanked the pistol free. "So, Mario," he began conversationally, "How much is the usual take from the jeweler's?"

"Five thousand," Mario grunted.

"Then why did the new guy bring two K back to the mansion before I came out here tonight? The kid pick your pocket after you caught him?"

Mario shook his head. The new guy wasn't supposed to make the drop, he thought. The story was supposed to have been that the kid got there first, and they caught him after he stashed the money. That stupid...

"Don't bother," Tommy cut him off. "Louis had an attack of conscience. He told me you guys planned to split the money--three for you, two for him. He got smart on the way back after he dropped you and the kid off here. For that, he gets to live. You, on the other hand..." He tossed the pistol back toward Colin, without looking.

Colin caught the gun in mid-air, snicked off the safety, and wordlessly pumped three shots into Mario where he sat. Mario didn't have time to do anything but let out a surprised gasp as the rounds hit him square in the chest. Colin walked over, aimed the weapon again, and fired one more round into Mario's head.

Silence hung in the room as Tommy and Colin stood, pistols in hand, facing each other. Tommy nodded down at Mario's body. "Nice work."

"Thanks," Colin replied. "Now what?"

Tommy shrugged. "I seem to have an opening in my organization."

"That's convenient," Colin replied. "I'm currently between employers."

Tommy holstered the gun, motioning for Colin to do the same. Colin stuck the weapon in the back of his jeans and pulled his loose-fitting T-shirt down over it.

"It's a ten-percent cut on whatever you bring in--protection money, drug profits, whatever."

Colin nodded. "Works for me. Diaz only paid five."

Tommy cocked an eyebrow. "Does that mean I get twice the loyalty?"

"Twice nothing is still nothing," Colin pointed out. "I already told you, money doesn't buy me, just my skills."

Tommy laughed. "I like you, kid. Just don't screw me over. It'd be a shame to have to kill you."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Vice Port

1990

The waves crashed up against the concrete as the storm began to blow in from off the Atlantic. The rain, just a drizzle now, was a prelude to a deluge that edged in from about two or three miles offshore. The Admiral rolled through the front gates, wipers swiping lazily across the windshield, and the driver brought the vehicle to a stop about thirty yards from the water's edge. He cut the lights and the engine, and waited.

"Hey, Colin?" the passenger asked.

"Yeah?" Colin replied from behind the wheel.

"What do you make of this whole thing?"

Colin sighed. He had been with Vercetti for almost three years now, and had yet to be given any reason to doubt the man's judgment on anything. Still...

"I'm not thrilled with the new alliance we've got with these West Coast Triads, but it's the devil we know versus the devil we don't," he admitted.

Anthony, the passenger nodded in agreement. In the past year and a half, Vice City had become a new shipping point for the Yakuza, and their viciousness was on a level that even the Haitians found repellent. In the first month alone, clashes with the Yakuza had resulted in the decimation of the Haitian gang population in Vice City. The Cubans, allies of the Vercetti Gang, had fared little better against these newcomers. One night, about a year after the Japanese first appeared on the scene, Umberto Robina went missing. A week later, a trio of Cubans out combing the neighborhood found Robina's head affixed to the hood of a Hermes. They never found his body.

Frustrated at the loss of business and manpower, Vercetti had solicited the assistance of the Triads, out of San Andreas. Their leader, Ran Fa Li, was eager to help, seeing an opportunity to combat the Yakuza on a new front, and with the assistance of Vercetti's men. He informed Vercetti that he would be sending a group of his best soldiers to Vice City to assist in the battle against the Japanese intruders.

Vercetti had sent Colin, who had been rapidly rising in the ranks of his organization, to meet this contingency at the airport. They had arrived via private jet--all five of them. Colin had not been impressed, especially since their supposed leader was blind.

"What the fuck?" he had asked Vercetti when he got back to the mansion. They had, from their first encounter at the Malibu, enjoyed a frank exchange of communication that Vercetti's other soldiers likely envied.

Vercetti had only shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. I have Ran Fa Li's assurances that these are his best men."

Colin had shaken his head in disgust. "They'd better not get in my fucking way, is all I can say."

"The boat's coming in, I think," Anthony pointed out, jolting Colin out of his reverie. He peered through the windshield and spotted the lights of the speedboat through the increasingly hard rain. The ship was anchored just off shore, in international waters. That way, they could avoid U.S. jurisdiction enroute to Liberty City. The cars they were transporting were hot, and Customs was something they were trying to avoid. This little stop just outside Vice, however, was a secret--so much so that only the captain of the freighter and a couple of crewmen, who were manning the speedboat that approached, knew what was being delivered to Colin and his crew.

Colin climbed out of the Admiral, and Anthony followed, clutching a briefcase to his chest. Across the dock, a pair of shadowy figures climbed out of a gunmetal grey Sentinel. _Triads_, Colin thought as he pulled the collar up on his jacket and braced himself against the rain. The two man strode over to meet them beside the Admiral.

"Stay sharp," he advised Anthony. "I don't think the Yakuza have been tipped off about this meeting, but you can't tell with those slanty-eyed bastards. A second later, his eyes shot over to the Triad leader whose eyes were concealed behind dark glasses, betraying nothing of his reaction to the unintentional slur. "Sorry," Colin added as an afterthought.

"Don't worry about it," the leader replied mildly. He pointed back toward the gate. "We'll take a position by the water, in case there's trouble."

Colin thought about correcting the man, but shrugged it off. "Whatever." He motioned to Anthony, and the two of them headed across to meet the speedboat as it approached. Alarm bells kept going off inside Colin's head. _Something's wrong about this._

The Jetmax eased up to the dock as Colin and Anthony arrived. The two Asian men climbed out of the boat. One of them was carrying a metal box. Colin nodded to Anthony, who opened up the briefcase. The men examined the money inside, nodded, and handed off the box to Colin. Anthony passed the briefcase to one of the crewmen. A second later, his head exploded in a shower of blood and bone.

Colin and Anthony dove for the cover of the steps that led down to the dock from the boat yard. The other crewman turned back for the Jetmax. He had made it three steps when another shot dropped him face first into the Atlantic.

"There must be a sniper on the roof of that dry dock over there," Colin told Anthony, pointing back toward the entrance to the boat yard. "I'll see if I can't lay down some cover fire. Get to that building over there, and then do the same for me, right?"

Anthony nodded. Colin signaled a countdown from three, then raised up to a crouch and fired at the source of the shots. The bullets spanged off the upper part of the wall, and the sniper appeared to fall back, as the shots stopped coming. Anthony bolted for the dry dock to the right, and was almost there when the shots started up again. One struck him in the leg, and he lurched forward. Just shy of cover, another shot nailed him in the back. Colin heard him cry out as he crawled the rest of the way into the building, clutching the box to his chest. No matter what else could be said about the man, Colin realized, he was loyal. Anthony was guarding that box with his very life.

Another round of fire opened up, this time from nearby. A burst of automatic gunfire erupted, catching the sniper off guard. He fell back from his position and rolled off the roof. The Triad gunman--the one who could see--moved in cautiously to check on the downed adversary as Colin took advantage of the moment and rushed to Anthony.

The wound was bad. The bullet was from a high-powered rifle, and had made a mess of the man. Colin looked down at his colleague, his friend, with whom he had worked for the past two years, and his face must have betrayed his dismay.

"I know," Anthony wheezed. "It's bad."

Colin recovered, shaking his head. "Nah. You'll be fine, man."

Anthony hacked out a feeble laugh. "Don't blow sunshine up my ass," he grated, his voice getting weaker. "You'll scorch my colon."

Colin laughed along with him, until Anthony's face fell. "Hey, Colin?" he asked.

"Yeah, pal?"

"D'you think there's any chance for guys like us...you know..." he jerked his chin toward the sky. "Up there?"

Colin shrugged. "I dunno, man."

Anthony chuckled once more, blood spurting out of his mouth this time. He tried to form a reply, but it was too late. The glazed look in his eyes told Colin that Anthony's train had already left the station. He looked up at the sky, into the falling rain, and sighed. "Hope they let you in, buddy. Put in a good word for me while you're up there."

"I'm...sorry," the Triad leader offered from the darkness beyond the building.

"Me too," Colin replied. "I hope that whatever's in this box was worth it."

The Asian man was about to reply when another gunshot rang out. A single shot. "Apparently my comrade fared no better than yours," observed the Triad leader. Colin heard the snicking of a safety in the night behind him. _Does that blind motherfucker actually have a GUN?_ Colin wondered.

He didn't get a chance to find out. Apparently responding to the gunshots, three VCPD cruisers came bursting through the front gates. The familiar brown uniforms jumped out of the cars as they came to a halt, spotlights trained on Colin. "FREEZE!" ordered the nearest cop.

Colin assessed his options and went for the path of least resistance. The door to the building, where Anthony's body lay half in, half out, was a good three paces away--far enough for a cop with good aim to plug him at least twice before he reached cover.

"DROP YOUR WEAPON!"

The police hadn't spotted the Triad leader in the darkness, nor did the spotlight extend past Anthony's legs. They hadn't seen the box.

"DO IT NOW!"

Colin bent his knees to set the gun on the ground. As he did so, he whispered just loud enough for the Triad leader to hear, "Wait until they take me in, and then get the box to Vercetti. It's just inside the entrance, in Anthony's hands."

The Triad leader whispered a quiet affirmative, and Colin straightened, kicking the gun toward the cops--and away from the body, and putting his hands behind his head.

"TURN AROUND AND WALK BACKWARDS TOWARD THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!"

_Why do they have to yell all the time? _Colin wondered as he followed the officer's instructions.

"ANOTHER FIVE FEET...THREE FEET...STOP!"

Colin stood still as the officer yanked his arms down and cuffed him. He roughly threw Colin in the backseat and slammed the door. A moment later, another officer could be seen dragging a wounded Asian man in a black jumpsuit to another police car. _The Yakuza sniper_.

The police cars peeled out of the docks, and all was silent, save for the rain, and the sound of a cell phone being dialed.

"Yes, it's me. I'm at the docks. No, it didn't go as planned. Yes, we retained posession of the box." His hand fumbled along the wall until he found the open door. He crouched down and felt up the length of Anthony's body until he got to his arms. Feeling the box, he let out a sigh of relief. "Yes, it's right here in my hands. Come and get me ASAP."

The call ended, and Wu Zi Mu put his phone away and sat with his back against the wall of the building, waiting.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Vice City Federal Courthouse

Three Weeks Later

"All rise."

The judge made his way up to the bench, and ordered everyone to be seated. He cleared his throat. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?"

The foreman stood. "We have, Your Honor."

"Will the defendant please rise?"

Colin stood, looking nervously to Ken Rosenberg, his attorney, who nodded his assurances.

"In the case of The People V. Colin Fox, how do you find the defendant?"

"We find the defendant guilty, Your Honor."

Colin didn't hear anything other than _sentencing_ and _three days_. He looked desperately to Ken, who assured him once again that he'd make sure things turned out all right. Colin's faith was less than firm as the bailiff led him away.

Vice City Jail

Two Hours Later

The guard pressed a buzzer, and the door to the visitation room opened. The guard escorted Colin into the room and took up a position in the corner. Colin started over to the glass, and stopped in his tracks when he saw Vercetti sitting on the other side. He regained his composure and seated himself. The two men pulled the phones off their hooks, and Vercetti spoke first.

"How ya holdin' up, kid?"

"I'm OK," Colin shrugged. "Given the fact that I'm, you know, fucked."

"No, you're not," Vercetti replied. "I talked to Wu when he came back to the mansion. He told me what happened. You've kept your mouth shut, you did what you were told to do. What made you think that I was going to leave you to the wolves?"

Colin shrugged again. "Dunno. 'Cause that's what everyone else I've known woulda done."

Tommy half-smiled, in that same way he did that first night at the Malibu. "You still ain't learned what loyalty is, have you, kid? Well, maybe I can teach you. You've got potential, but you're not going to realize it here in Vice. The judge owes me a favor. You might not think I've got your best interests in mind when you hear what he has to say on Thursday, but keep an open mind. And when you finish, come back and say hi sometime."

"When I finish? What the hell does that mean?"

"Sorry, kid," Tommy apologized, winking. "I gotta go. See you around." He hung up the phone, got to his feet, and was out the door a moment later. Colin hung up, sat in silence for a moment, and then stood up. The guard stepped up and escorted him back to his cell.

Vice City Federal Courthouse

Three Days Later

"Mr. Fox, please rise."

Colin stood, looking again to Ken, who nodded.

The judge leaned forward. "Due to the serious nature of this crime, it was my first impulse to sentence you to the maximum penalty allowed by law. However, in speaking with certain...character references...over the past few days, I have decided to offer you a choice. At this moment, you have a decision to make, Mr. Fox. Ten years in the federal penitentiary, or enlistment in the Army."

Colin looked at Ken in askance. _Is he for real?_

"Mr. Fox?" the judge pressed.

Colin turned back to the judge. "Yes, Your Honor."

The judge arched an eyebrow. "Your decision, please. I have...other obligations...today." He smiled patronizingly.

"Yes, Your Honor. I'm sorry. I'd like to take the..." he looked at Ken, as if to say, _Vercetti's gonna pay for this._ "...The second option."

The judge nodded. "Very well. You are released on your own recognizance, on the condition that you return to this court within 72 hours with a copy of your enlistment papers, with said enlistment to begin no less than 2 weeks from this date."

One bang of the gavel later, Colin whirled on Ken. "What the hell kind of deal is this?"

Ken shrugged. "Tommy told me that the best way for you to realize your potential was to get out of here. This seemed like the only way."

"SEEMED like the only way? This sucks, Ken! I'm not Army material!"

Ken smiled sheepishly. "You never know. You might surprise yourself."

Colin glared. "I'll kill you."

"See?" Ken offered weakly. "That's the spirit."

Escobar International Airport

One Week Later

Colin stood at the gate, awaiting boarding for his flight to Los Santos. A voice caught his attention, and he turned.

"All set, kid?"

He smiled, just a little. "I guess I don't have a choice. It's certainly something different."

"Yeah, well, I pulled a lot of strings to get your record expunged so you could pass the requirements for enlistment, so you'd better not disappoint me," Vercetti advised him.

Colin's smile grew a little broader. "Have I disappointed you yet?"

Vercetti shook his head. "Not so far, but this is a little different than what I've had you doing."

Colin nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. From now on, when I kill someone, I've got the government's blessing."

"Wiseass," Vercetti chuckled.

"You know, you never told me what was in that box," Colin observed.

Vercetti nodded. "That's what I've always liked about you, kid. You're sharp."

Colin stared for a moment, eyebrow cocked, and came to a realization. "You're not going to, are you?"

Vercetti laughed. "Getting sharper by the second."

The attendant announced that the boarding process was beginning, and Colin shrugged, slinging his carry-on over his shoulder.

"Time to go," Colin observed.

Vercetti nodded. "Yeah. Good luck, kid."

Colin shook Vercetti's outstretched hand. "Thanks. For everything."

Vercetti shook his hand in return, then tipped him an awkward salute and turned on his heel.

Colin's row was called, and he grabbed his bag, heading for the plane.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Willowfield, Los Santos

1992

An ambulance whipped past Colin for what seemed to be the hundredth time in the past hour. Like the firefighters, these paramedics were fighting a losing battle. The city was in turmoil. People ran in every direction--looting, murdering, or just plain running amok.

_All this over one crooked cop,_ Colin marveled. A bullet whipped past his head, and he was snapped back to reality. He turned to the Private on his left flank and pointed. The Private nodded, firing on the rioter. He went down like a sack of bricks.

Somehow, Colin had been reluctant at first when informed of his assignment, but orders were orders. They were to assist the LSPD with containment until the riot could be brought under control. The whole of Echo Company had been brought in to aid in the reclamation of the city. First Platoon had been helicoptered into position from the National Guard Depot near the docks to Santa Marina Beach. Second Platoon was in Mulholland, suppressing rioters in the hills. On the Northeast side of the city, Third Platoon was working inward from East Beach, through Los Flores.

That left Fourth Platoon, under his command, to strike out toward the heart of Los Santos from the National Guard Depot in a Northwesterly direction. So far, his troops had managed to get Willowfield back under control, and were now working their way into El Corona. The area was not known to be under the control of any gangs, unlike the Balla-controlled territory of Willowfield, but the border between the two areas was a racial hotbed, with El Corona's mostly Hispanic population mixing in with the predominantly African-American population of Willowfield. He was prepared to see just about anything.

A burst of gunfire erupted from the left as a pair of men, clad in black tank tops and grey pants, emerged from behind a building. Colin and his men dropped to the ground to avoid the spray of automatic rounds being dispersed into the air where their heads had been moments ago, but a cry from Colin's right told him that one man had been a second too late.

"Jernigan!" one of the other Privates shouted. Colin returned fire with his M-4, stitching a line of bullets across the chests of the two men. The assailants fell, and Colin got to his feet, rushing to the side of the wounded Private.

PFC Jernigan was down with a slug to the upper chest, near the right shoulder. He was clutching his hand to the wound, but his blood still oozed between his tense fingers, mocking his attempts to staunch its flow. Colin yanked his radio free from its holster and called in for a medevac.

"It's not bad, S'art," Jernigan gritted. "Just hand me my weapon--I seem to have dropped it over there."

Colin shook his head. "Stay down, Private. That's an order. You need to sit still until the chopper comes in."

Jernigan started to protest, but the shock of the injury was wearing off. Pain had started to kick in. Colin watched as his body spasmed, and he realized that time was running out for the fallen soldier.

The wail of another siren pierced the night air, and Colin's head snapped up. He saw the ambulance coming in the distance, and stepped out to stop it. The ambulance driver, startled by the sudden appearance of a soldier in full urban camo, nearly swerved off the road. He recovered in time and brought the bus to a halt. Colin came around to the window.

"I've got a man down with a gunshot wound to the upper chest," he explained. "Got any room in that bus?"

The paramedic nodded. "I was on my way to Willowfield to pick up some more injured rioters, so I'm empty right now."

"Can you get him to County General ASAP?" he pleaded.

The paramedic sighed, thinking about his options. "Let's get him loaded," he said finally. "I'd rather save somebody who's out here cleaning up this mess than someone who's out starting it, given the choice."

"Good man," Colin affirmed, and the two of them, with the help of another couple soldiers, got Jernigan onto a gurney and into the back of the bus. As Colin was stepping out of the back of the ambulance, Jernigan called to him. "Sergeant Fox?"

Colin turned. "You're in good hands, Private. I'll see you back at the depot when this is all over."

He climbed out of the bus and shut the door. The paramedic jumped back into the driver's seat and took off with his patient. Colin watched them go and thought about something someone had said to him two years earlier.

_"You think there's any chance for guys like us...up there?"_

Colin reached up to his chest and felt, underneath the BDU top and T-shirt. On the chain, along with his dogtags, hung the cross his mother had given him when he was twelve. It's familiar shape brought him a moment of comfort, and he turned back to his remaining soldiers.

"Fall in! Let's move out, men!"

Pershing Square, Los Santos

Six Hours Later

Colin could see the LSPD HQ, the predetermined rendezvous point, up ahead as his platoon made their way along the base of Verdant Bluffs. All sorts of radio reports had been incoming during the past twenty minutes. Third Platoon reported a chase involving a fire engine near Ganton, followed by a massive crash. The truck went over the side of an overpass and crashed onto Grove Street. Orders were given by HQ not to interfere--let the civilians handle that one, Captain Collins had said. The last report to come in was that the driver of the fire engine had been none other than the corrupt police officer whose acquittal had resulted in this civil unrest.

_Thank God,_ Colin thought. _Maybe now this madness will wind down._

His platoon arrived at Pershing Square fifteen minutes later. Second Platoon was already there, and First Platoon was ten minutes away. Third Platoon, having been delayed by the accident in Ganton, was on its way, but still another half hour out. Even now, the riots were drawing to a close. The LSPD had regained control on most of the streets, and Pershing Square was now almost quiet. All that remained was a wasteland of overturned cars and burning trash...and the occasional body of a civilian who took a potshot at the wrong person.

"How'd you do, Fox?" Sgt. Riordan called out in greeting as Colin called his soldiers out of formation. Sgt. Riordan was a lanky, fair-skinned first generation American from Liberty City. His parents were full-blooded Irish. Much to their annoyance, their son had lost the brogue early, but he retained the temper of his bloodline. While he and Colin had been in Basic Training, several recruits had misjudged Riordan's size and temperament, and paid dearly for it.

Colin shook his head. "Lost Jernigan around Willowfield. He's at County General. An ambulance came by and snatched him up, thank God."

Riordan nodded. "Indeed. If he'd have had to wait for a medevac..."

"I'd rather not think about it," Colin replied, cutting his friend short.

The other two platoons arrived shortly thereafter, and Echo Company returned to formation. Captain Collins emerged from the HQ a few minutes later to debrief them, and transport trucks arrived within the hour to carry the soldiers back to the depot.

As they rode back, PFC Michaels spoke up. "S'art?"

Colin looked up. "Yes, Private?"

"Someone told me your enlistment's almost up, S'art."

Colin nodded. "Someone's got a big mouth, but they're right. I'm supposed to sign my papers tomorrow."

"You are gonna re-up, right, S'art?"

Colin shrugged. "I dunno, Private. Three days ago, you asked me that question, I'd have said hell yes. Now..."

Colin's voice trailed off, and the PFC let the conversation end. The rest of the trip back to the depot was spent with only the sound of the diesel engine to be heard.

National Guard Depot, Los Santos

The Next Day

Colin knocked on the door of Captain Collins' temporary office and waited. "Enter."

Colin stepped into the room and saluted. Collins half-heartedly returned the salute. "At ease, Sergeant. Take a seat."

Colin took a seat at the desk, across from the Captain. "Echo Company is on its way back to Battalion Headquarters this evening. I heard a disturbing rumor this morning that you would not be with us on that return trip. Is that correct, Sergeant Fox?"

Colin nodded. "Yes, sir. I decided not to re-enlist, sir."

The Captain sighed. "Well, in the time that you've been with Echo Company, it's been a pleasure to have you. You're a hell of a soldier, Fox. I hate losing you, but after the incident here in Los Santos...well, let's just say I can't hold it against you. If you ever change your mind, you'll know where to find us. I know I speak for most of the troops when I say I'd be glad to have you back."

_Once a Dragoon, always a Dragoon,_ Colin thought as he got to his feet. "Thank you, sir." Captain Collins stood, and Colin saluted. "By force and valor, sir."

The Captain returned the salute. "By force and valor, Sergeant."

Colin executed a sharp about-face and strode out of the office. He had a flight to catch.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Starfish Island, Vice City

Two Days Later

The palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze under the Florida sun as the Comet cruised over the bridge onto Starfish Island. Its driver slowed at the entrance to the massive mansion on the southern side of the island and came to a stop at the entrance. As the driver, clad in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched tighly across his chest, emerged from the vehicle, several shouts of alarm came from the top of the steps leading into the vast domicile.

"You can't park there! Who the fuck are you?"

The driver grinned broadly as the men came menacingly down the stairs. To the bald one, he called out, "Pete, come on. I know you recognize me."

Pete stopped short, peering at the newcomer as if seeing him for the first time. His eyes widened in recognition. "Colin? Holy shit, man! Is that you? Jesus Christ, you've changed!"

Colin laughed. "Yeah, I guess I have, a little."

"You filled out, finally," Pete observed. "Suits you. Shit, the boss'll be glad to see you, man! I'll go tell him you're here."

"That's all right, Pete," Colin told him. "I'd rather find him myself."

Pete nodded. "Gotcha. I think he's in his office."

Colin thanked the hulking bodyguard and headed up the steps into the mansion. He looked around the foyer as he entered. "Some things never change."

"I don't give a FUCK! You told me you had that shit under control! What the fuck happened?"

Colin chuckled. "Yeah, some things will always be the same." He headed up the stairs toward the sound of his former employer's tirade.

"You listen to me, Hai. I gave you the guns. I gave you the money. I got you guys set up in that town. I made two conditions. You knock off that human trafficking, and you leave the fucking Triads alone! No! Shut up! I don't give a fuck about this black guy who came in and jacked up your shit! I don't give a fuck how much money you lost on that shipment, you shouldn't have been running it! Cars, drugs, any other import, for fuck's sake, not people! Because people talk, you dumb fuck! Drugs and cars don't! You used the goddamn guns I sent you to start a war with the Mountain Cloud Boys, when I told you to stay the fuck away from them. I've been allied with them a hell of a lot longer than you, you dog-eating asshat! You know what? Fuck this shit. I'll be out there in three days to sort this shit out, and we'll see what's left of your organization when I'm done."

Colin stepped into the room as Vercetti slammed down the phone. "You still have a way with people, Tommy."

Tommy straightened, and Colin could tell, even though his back was turned, that he was smiling. "I never thought I'd hear that voice again." He turned around, sure as hell, smiling like a raccoon eating fish guts through a wire comb. "Colin Fox. Look at you!" He started walking over, and Colin met him halfway. They bear-hugged each other, and Vercetti stepped back, holding him at arm's length. "So, Sergeant, is it?"

"It was," Colin cocked his head. "You kept tabs on me?"

"Ah," Vercetti waved him off. "You know how it is. I worry about my guys, even after they leave me. So it WAS, huh? What, you get out?"

Colin nodded. "Yeah. I just got out the end of last week. I remembered what you said about coming to see you when I could, so I hopped a flight from Los Santos, dropped my stuff off at that apartment you gave me up at Vice Point--I was kinda surprised the key still fit, by the way."

"Why the hell wouldn't it, man? It's your place," Vercetti replied.

Colin shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. So, anyway, here I am. And now I hear you're on your way out in a couple of days. To think, I wasted the money on a flight over here when all I had to do was hop a train to San Fierro and hang out for a few days."

Vercetti laughed. "Yeah, but look on the bright side. I'll be back in a few days."

Colin shook his head. "Why not just let me come with you?"

Vercetti looked at him sideways for a second, considering. "I dunno if that's such a good idea, kid. This business meeting...it might get a little rough."

Colin laughed. "Tommy, I've just spent two years in the Army. I was in Los Santos during those riots last week, suppressing civilian protestors. I think I can handle a business deal."

Vercetti laughed. "OK, OK. How about we talk about it over a round of golf?"

"Only if you promise to only hit the balls," Colin insisted.

"Deal," Vercetti chuckled. "It's funnier than hitting them over the head anyway."

"Tommy!"

"I'm just kidding," Vercetti assured him. He threw an arm around Colin's shoulders. "Let's go." As they walked out of the office, Vercetti turned to Colin and asked, "Is that what the military calls icing people? Suppressing them?"

"Well," Colin offered weakly.

"Shit," Tommy laughed. "And I thought I was heartless."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Easter Bay Airport, San Fierro

Three Days Later

Vercetti and Colin stepped down from the exit of Vercetti's Shamal and into the backseat of the black Stretch that awaited them on the runway. As they settled in, the limo eased away from the jet and down the ramp. Vercetti adjusted the lapels of his khaki suit and looked out the window as they exited the airport and made a right turn toward Esplanade East, where the meeting was set to take place.

"So, we're just going into this meeting with nothing but our smiles and good intentions?" Colin inquired.

Vercetti laughed. "Yeah, right. You should know me better than that, kid. When have you ever known me to travel without a little insurance?" He bumped a panel on the console beside him, and it flipped open.

"Shit," he muttered, peering into the empty drawer.

"What is it?" Colin asked.

"My guns. They're not here."

"What?"

Vercetti looked again, growing angrier. "I instructed Rick to make sure he picked up a pair of Desert Eagles for us before he met us at the airport." He flicked the switch to contact the driver. "Hey, Rick, what gives, pal?"

The voice that answered him was most definitely not Rick's.

"Rick took an unscheduled trip. You just sit back and relax."

"Like hell," Vercetti growled. The limo pulled to the side of the road, and both doors opened. Two men got in, both wearing olive pants and black T-shirts, and sat down on either side of Colin and Vercetti, 9mm pistols trained on them. The Stretch resumed its journey along the waterfront, and Vercetti huffed, looking like a caged panther.

The limo passed through Esplanade East, and Vercetti watched as they blew by the meeting site. Seeing his questioning look, the Da Nang Boy nearest to him laughed. "We've decided on a little change of plans."

"Where the fuck are we going?" Colin growled, tired of the cat and mouse games.

"You'll find out," the gangbanger next to him assured him. He felt a sudden thump against the base of his skull, and then silence and darkness swallowed his consciousness.

A hard slap brought Colin back around, and he opened his eyes suddenly, taking in his new surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, with only an overhanging light providing illumination. Colin could make out massive, boxy shapes on the fringes of the light thrown from above. Vercetti was on his left, tied to a chair. So was he, he realized quickly. The only other occupants of the room were a pair of Da Nang Boys. One of them, standing over them, was from the limo. The other one, dressed in more traditional Vietnamese attire, was seated casually in a chair, arms folded.

"Mr. Vercetti," he began. "Are we ready to begin our negotiations?"

Vercetti glared at him. "You must be Hai."

The seated Vietnamese man nodded. "I am."

"I figured. Only someone as stupid as you would try to pull off something like this. I'm expected at the Vank Hoff Hotel by 7:30 tonight. If I'm not there, my associates will start slaughtering every Da Nang Boy they see on the street."

Hai narrowed his almond-shaped eyes, and then smiled. "Oh, rest assured, I intend to take you to your associates tonight. Whether or not you're alive when it happens depends on the end result of this conversation. Now, I foresee my organization becoming more solidified within yours. I think a 50 share of profits is quite reasonable, don't you?"

"Well," Vercetti considered, "Under the circumstances, I'd say...no."

Hai laughed. "You are a difficult one, aren't you?"

Vercetti shrugged. "I didn't get where I was being a softie. Besides," he added, glancing over at Colin and smirking. "I could tell you anything you wanted to hear, and then get back to Vice City and pull out of the deal, maybe start ordering hits on your soldiers out there in the streets, really pull the rug out from under you, you know?"

Hai nodded. "Yes, indeed I do. Loyalty is fickle in this world, Mr. Vercetti. I know this well. That's why I've taken the liberty of solidifying our leverage in this situation. As we speak, my men are raiding every one of your businesses throughout Vice City. In addition, my NEW allies within the Yakuza are storming your mansion and slaughtering your men...with the guns that you yourself provided, I might add."

"You son of a..." Vercetti strained against his ropes.

Hai chuckled. "You like that last touch? I thought it was a nice one myself." He leaned forward. "Now, Mr. Vercetti, you will sign this contract, giving legal ownership of your Vice City holdings to me."

Hai nodded to his soldier, who released Vercetti's bonds, keeping the gun trained on him. Hai leaned closer, offering the pen and paper, and Vercetti took the pen from him, glancing again at Colin.

_Just one more second,_ he thought. _Gimme one more second, Tommy..._

It all happened in an instant. Just as Colin got free of his bonds, Vercetti spit on the paper and elbowed the Da Nang Boy in the gut. Hai reached under his shirt for his pistol, and Colin was out of the chair, his leg flying out. The kick knocked Hai's gun hand aside as a shot went off, pinging off the side wall of the room. Vercetti turned the pen around in his hand and jabbed it into the Da Nang Boy's neck. The gangbanger clutched his throat as blood spurted onto Vercetti's suit.

"Aw, man," Vercetti growled, "I got gangbanger stuff on me!" He dropped into a crouch as Colin and Hai wrestled for the gun. Another shot went off over his head as he snatched up the dead man's pistol and aimed it at Hai. He hesitated for a moment, as Colin was still in danger of being hit by any shot he might take at that moment.

A second later, Colin lashed his knee up into Hai's gut. Hai doubled over, and Colin elbowed him, hard, in the side of the head. As he fell back, Vercetti fired, catching Hai in the shoulder. As he spun around from the impact of the bullet, Vercetti put another round into his gut. He dropped like a sack of rice off a shelf.

"Nice shot," Colin panted, hands on his knees. He stepped forward after a second and kicked Hai's gun across the floor. Vercetti approached the fallen man, and he looked up, chuckling despite his pain.

"And you called me stupid," Hai laughed, and then hissed in agony. "What has been set in motion cannot be undone by my death." He raised his arm and pressed a button on a device strapped to his wrist. A deafening explosion rocked the room.

"What the fuck?" Vercetti demanded.

Hai smiled. "Your doom. This ship is sinking." Blood started oozing from his mouth, and his laughter became gargling.

Vercetti sneered at Hai. "Motherfucker." He fired once more, the round pounding into Hai's skull and ending the sick parody of humor. He turned to Colin. "We've got to get the fuck out of here."

"That's the smartest thing you've said all day, Tommy," Colin shot back. He snatched up Hai's pistol. "Those stairs would be a good start," he indicated, pointing into the darkness.

Vercetti peered into the negritude beyond the hanging lamp's light. "You can see those fuckin' things from here?"

Colin laughed as they headed for the stairs. "Trust me, after you've followed a five foot tall black girl in camo through the woods on a night with heavy cloudcover, you can see just about anything."

As if reading his mind, nature obliged them as they reached the deck of the cargo ship. It was pitch black, the only light coming from the lights on the conn tower above. As they emerged from the hatch, a cry of alarm came up from above them. Apparently, Hai and his gunmen weren't the only Da Nang Boys on board. Gunfire erupted, and Colin and Vercetti dove behind a cargo container. The bullets ricocheted with the ping of metal on metal.

"Don't they know this damn ship is sinking?" Vercetti demanded.

"I don't think they care," Colin replied, leaning out from behind the container to fire three shots at the men above. One of them cried out, falling forward, and as the gunfire opened up again, Colin heard a thump of the man hitting the deck below. He jerked his head back around as the bullets spanged off again. "They were probably ordered to make sure we didn't get out alive."

"At the cost of their own lives?" Vercetti demanded. "That's insane."

Colin shrugged as he returned fire yet again. "That's Asian thinking."

Vercetti pulled back the breach of the pistol, jacking a round into the chamber. "Too much rice in their diet. See, Colin? That's what all that rice gets you." He moved around Colin and rolled out from behind the container, firing three times as he moved. A second Da Nang Boy dropped as Vercetti reached the cover of a container on the other side of the aisle. "If these fuckers ate good old hot dogs very once in a while, they'd think clearer."

Colin laughed, then sobered quickly. "Tommy! Behind you!" He opened fire, but the Da Nang Boy that had emerged from behind their hiding place was a second quicker. Colin's round found its mark in the man's chest, but so did his--in Vercetti's back.

"Shit!" Vercetti grunted as he lurched forward into the container. The round had entered in his mid-back, just below his shoulder blade. Colin ran out, firing multiple rounds at the last Da Nang Boy above them. The gunman dropped, and Colin reached Vercetti just as another explosion rocked the ship, almost tearing it in half. The bow lurched forward, and Colin scrambled to keep his footing.

"Did he set up a second booby trap?" Vercetti asked through gritted teeth.

Colin shook his head. "I don't think so. That sounded like a gas explosion. He's probably got flammable stuff on board down below."

A third explosion. This time closer. Colin was knocked off his feet and hurled three feet back. Vercetti turned to him. "Colin! Get the fuck off this ship, now!"

"I gotta get you out of here too!" he demanded.

Vercetti shook his head. "I'm fucked now, kid. My empire's crushed, I'm done for. You've still got potential. You don't belong here, kid."

Colin felt tears welling up in his eyes. "You know, somehow I pictured our reunion going differently," he chuckled.

Vercetti smiled. "Me, too, kid. Maybe in the next life. Now get out of here before I shoot you myself."

He made a half-hearted attempt to raise the gun, and Colin turned away. As he ran for the side of the ship, he looked back once more as another explosion rocked the vessel. Vercetti disappeared behind a wall of fire, and Colin was thrown over the side. He fell for what seemed like an eternity before he hit the cold water of San Fierro Bay. He plunged deep beneath the surface, and several moments passed before he was able to kick back up to the surface. The sight that met his eyes looked like something out of a disaster film. Flames leapt at least a half-mile into the night sky as the freighter crumpled into the water. Yet another explosion launched debris into the air. a large chunk of metal came sailing toward Colin, and he dove under the water to avoid it. As he swam down, he could hear the metal skim across the waves above him. He waited another thirty seconds before coming back to the surface. As he broke into the cool night air, he gasped for air.

"There's a reason," he sputtered to himself as his lungs found oxygen, "That I didn't join the Navy, dammit."

The sound of a speedboat skimming across the water caught his attention, and he spotted the Squallo approaching from the direction of the city, spotlight scanning the waves for signs of life. Uncertain of who was piloting the craft, Colin again dove under the surface and began swimming toward a small island beyond the wreckage. He had to surface twice along the way, but he managed to avoid the boat as its occupants surveyed the remains of the freighter. Colin crawled, exhausted, onto the island, and concealed himself behind a jutting rock. He slumped back against the rock, and his emotions caught up with him--from that night, the riots, and everything before. As the tears slid down his cheeks, the same question kept ringing in his ears.

"_You think there's any chance for guys like us...up there?"_

After a long silence, Colin whispered, "If there is, you'd better keep an eye on me from up there, Tommy."

The sound of the search boat receded, and Colin waited another full hour before deciding that it was safe to make a break for it. He slipped back into the water and began the long swim for the hills of Tierra Robada.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Fort Carson

1993

He was in the middle of another one of those dreams. He was back in the ghettos of Los Santos, pushing his way from block to block, ducking the automatic gunfire, when the sound came echoing through the trailer. Instantly, he was on the floor, reaching for a rifle that wasn't there. As his brain fully awakened, he took in his surroundings and sighed. The backfiring vehicle made its way down the dirt road into town as Colin got to his feet and went to the window.

The full moon hung over the desert, casting a silver glow on the night-cloaked town. Colin turned and looked at his clock. 11:15.

_I'm not likely to get any more sleep for a while. Might as well see what's going on at the bar._

Colin pulled on his jeans and one of his old Army brown shirts, shoved his bare feet into a pair of tennis shoes, and headed out the door. He thought about climbing onto his Freeway, but decided to walk instead. It wasn't far, and the fresh air would do him good.

The jukebox was playing "Fortunate Son" as Colin pushed the door open and walked into the bar. The smoke-filled room was sparsely populated that night. A pair of wannabe-cowboy types, complete with dusters, were playing pool. Two other regulars sat at the bar. The blonde with the short denim skirt and plaid shirt was Debbie Lucas. She was a working girl once, under the lights of Las Venturas. High-class, too--only the high-rolling out-of-towners and the locals with enough cash to make it worth her while. One night, she crossed paths with an ex-con who'd flown in from Liberty, looking for a little action. He'd liked the look of her, and invited her up to his room. When he didn't have the cash for a couple of requests, she headed for the door. He tried to grab her. They struggled, and in the process, he cut a four-inch gash in her face with a switchblade. She'd survived, obviously, but it put an end to her career in Venturas. Nobody wanted a hooker with a scar on her cheek--especially not the high rollers. Fortunately, Debbie had played things smart. Unlike most of the other round-heels on the Strip, Debbie hadn't snorted her profits up her nose. Instead, she'd socked the money away, and she was sitting on a cool million when that freak from Liberty had jacked up her face. She took the money and split town, ending up in Fort Carson. The million she brought with her bought her a nice piece of real estate on Main Street, and she now ran a small bed and breakfast, catering to the tourists who were seeking a vacation that led them someplace other than the lights of Las Venturas. When Colin had arrived in Fort Carson a year ago, the locals had been friendly enough, but naturally curious. He'd appeared out of nowhere, paid cash for his trailer, and kept to himself pretty much all the time. He'd gotten tired of the probing, and it was Debbie who'd finally stepped up one night and told them, basically, to get fucked. Coming from the background she did, she had explained to him, she knew what it was like to want to keep secrets. It was funny, really. Hearing her say that almost made him _want_ to tell her about himself. He gave in--only a little--telling her little pieces here and there. She had learned about his tour in the Army, and his time on the streets of Vice City as a teen, but he left out his involvement with Vercetti. For one thing, after only a year, the wound of his death was too fresh. For another, even though he'd gone an entire year without a word from San Fierro, he couldn't be sure that there weren't still people looking for him. A wrong word overheard by the right person could lead the Yakuza or the Da Nang Boys right back to him.

The other person at the bar didn't live in Fort Carson, but he was here often enough to be considered a regular. His name was Mike Parker. He was a balding, heavyset thirty-something truck driver from Blueberry with a heart made of gold and a wife made of the fires of hell. He didn't have the heart to divorce her, and so he spent as much time holed up in Fort Carson between runs as he could. It suited him fine here, he always said, and it suited his wife to have him here, since his checks from the trucking company were always directly deposited into his account. Every Friday, it was the same thing for poor old Mike. He'd finish his last run--a hazmat delivery to KACC Fuels in Northeast Venturas, and then he'd race over to the ATM in the Creek Shopping Center and withdraw his 500 allowance for the week before his wife had a chance to do the same thing outside the Well-Stacked Pizza in Blueberry. Nine times out of ten, he succeeded, but every so often, Mrs. Parker was a little quicker on the draw, and he'd come in all long-faced. Those were the weeks when Debbie and Colin would chip in and take care of him at the bar. He always said he'd pay them back, and occasionally a little money would come back their way, but they came to see Mike as kind of a charity case. Mike was always happiest sitting right there in that bar, and he seemed even more content when his two "best buds", as he called Colin and Debbie, were there with him.

Thus, it was with enthusiasm and gusto that he spun around on the stool and welcomed Colin into the bar with a huge bear hug.

"Colin! My man! How are ya tonight, brother?"

Colin shrugged, half-smiling. "Another one of those nights, Mike. Can't sleep."

"Nothing our old buddy Jack Daniels can't cure," Debbie piped up from behind Mike, waving the bartender over.

"Hey, Bob," Colin greeted him as he approached.

"Hey, Colin," Bob returned. "Your usual?"

Colin nodded, running a hand through his thick beard. "Jack and Coke it is, my friend. Heavy on the Jack."

Bob nodded sympathetically, setting to his craft. Colin slipped onto a barstool between Debbie and Mike and slumped forward over the bar. Debbie rubbed his back. "Poor baby," she murmured. "You look like hell tonight, sweetie. More flashbacks?"

Colin nodded.

"I can't imagine," Mike cut in. Aside from Debbie, he was the only one who knew anything about Colin's background. "I mean, they're just now wrapping up the repairs in some parts of that city, but to have been IN it, down in the trenches, while all that fire, and noise, and hell, and..."

"Mike," Debbie cut in quietly, but with an edge of warning in her voice.

"Sorry," Mike offered, stopping himself.

Colin waved him off as Bob returned with his drink. "It's OK, Mike. You didn't mean anything by it." He took a long swig of the drink and made a slight grimace. "Hey, Bob, did you put any fucking Coke in this drink, or what?"

Bob shook his head. "Not a drop, asshole."

Colin grinned, raising his glass in salute. "Good man."

Bob chuckled, returning to his cleaning. A moment later, the door opened, and a thickly-built man with a squared off jaw entered. He stepped up to the bar and greeted the bartender politely. "Good evening, sir. I don't want to take up much of your time, but I'm looking for a man named Colin Fox. I have...business...to discuss with him." The man turned away for a moment, surveying the room, and Bob's eyes darted over to Colin, who was instantly alert. He shook his head, and Bob's eyes snapped back to the large man just as he turned back to face him.

"I don't know anyone by that name, sir," Bob told him. "I'm sorry."

The man sighed. "I understand. If he does happen to pass this way, please give him this." The large man reached into his impossibly tight jacket, and Colin tensed for a moment until the man extracted a business card. He passed it to Bob and left without another word. Colin could hear the unmistakeable sound of an Elegy cranking up outside, and then the car and its driver were lost to the night.

Bob walked over to Colin with one eyebrow raised and slid the card across the bar to him. Colin opened his mouth to speak, but Bob cut him short with a raised hand.

"You don't like to talk about the past. If this is something to do with that, you don't have to tell me a thing."

Colin nodded. He downed the rest of his drink and picked up the card to examine it.

"Another drink?" Bob asked.

Colin nodded, not taking his eyes off the card. Bob returned a moment later with the drink, and Colin pocketed the card and settled into his second drink of the night.

Closing time took the trio by surprise, and they stumbled out of the bar and into the street. Mike bade them goodnight, and headed for the sanctuary of the bunk inside his truck to sleep off the night's libations. Debbie and Colin stood alone on the sidewalk outside the bar.

"You don't look so great still," Debbie observed.

Colin smiled. "I'm fine."

Debbie chuckled. "You're also a horrible liar. Come on, come back to the B&B with me. I don't have any guests staying tonight. You can have the upstairs guest room. It's got a great view out onto Main Street."

Colin shrugged. "I guess. You could just come back with me to my trailer."

"If you live anything like most of the bachelors I know, I wouldn't set foot in that place," Debbie laughed. Colin tried to protest, but realized he didn't have a defensible position, so he just shrugged again.

"That's what I thought," Debbie smirked. "So, my place?"

Colin nodded, and the two of them headed toward Main Street.

Colin stumbled into the room, nearly falling face first onto the floor. Debbie laughed as she caught him and helped him onto the bed. "You'll probably find the bed more comfortable than the floor," she advised him.

"Mmm..." he grunted in agreement, and the next noise that escaped from him was a snore.

Debbie chuckled into her hand as she backed away to the door, staring at the scruffy military vet sprawled half on, half off the bed, snoring to beat the band. "You sure are a piece of work, Colin," she said to herself as she turned off the light and headed down the hall to her room.

The Next Morning

Colin awoke with a start, taking in his unfamiliar sorroundings. The tumblers in his brain fell into place, and he remembered where he was and how he got there. He got to his feet and listened. The water was running down the hall. Debbie was in the shower. He could slip out and avoid any awkwardness. Besides, he needed to get started on the task of trying to figure out who this mystery man was who had tried to track him down last night. He scribbled off a quick note to Debbie, headed down the stairs and out the front door a few minutes before the water shut off upstairs.

Debbie finished drying her hair, dressed in a light sundress and a pair of sandals, and headed down the hall to wake up the sleepyhead. She pushed the door open slowly. "Hey, Rip Van Winkle, time for..."

"Breakfast," she finished weakly as she realized that he was gone. She spied the note on the table and picked it up.

_Debbie,_

_Had some things to do. Thanks for the bed--you're right. It was more comfortable than the floor. I'll be back later today._

She put the note back on the table and shook her head. "What a piece of work," she chuckled.

Colin turned onto the dirt road that led to his trailer, and the sight that greeted him set him into a dead run. He reached his Freeway and pulled a Desert Eagle out of the saddlebag. As he approached the wide-open door of his trailer, he flipped off the safety and snatched back the breach of the pistol, loading a round into the chamber. He swung around the side, pointing the gun into the trailer. Nothing. Cautiously, he stepped inside. The entire living room was wrecked. Drawers hung open, their contents spilled out onto the floor. Papers lay everywhere. Whatever they had been looking for, they had wanted it badly.

A tiny sound. Just a little scratch of a shoe on carpet.

It wasn't anything that the average person would even hear, much less acknowledge.

Colin wasn't the average person. His military training kicked in, and he crept into the hallway leading down to his bedroom. He pushed the door open and waited a handful of heartbeats, then turned the gun toward the open door and fired.

The fifty caliber round penetrated the door and exited through the other side, finding a new home in the temple of the man who had been hiding behind it. Colin stepped through the door and shut the door behind him. The man who lay on the floor was of average height and build, with dark brown hair. He was dressed in a pair of black slacks and a black turtleneck. He was also, Colin could see without bending down to look for a pulse, no longer a going concern.

Colin snatched up his duffle bag from the closet. He'd kept it packed, always prepared to run, but the optimist in him had hoped that they day would never come that he would need it. _Looks like my time's run out,_ he thought. Outside, he hopped on the Freeway and rode out to the paved road leading into town. He headed out to the highway and headed Northeast, to the Xoomer station near Octane Springs. Once there, he dialed the number on the card. He waited three rings before the voice of the man from the bar answered on the other end.

"The Cluckin' Bell Northwest of Los Barrancas," he said without introduction. "Sixteen hundred hours. So help me, if you're not alone, I'll run again, and this time you'll never find me."

He hung up the phone and got back on his bike, turning back around for Fort Carson.

Debbie heard the screen door slam downstairs, and she came to the top of the stairs to see who had come in.

"Debbie?" Colin called.

Debbie smiled. "Hey, you," she greeted him. "I was starting to wonder if you'd skipped town or something."

Colin shook his head. "Not yet."

Debbie noticed the duffle bag as she came downstairs. "Colin, where...?"

Colin shook his head. "I can't tell you where I'm going, and I can't tell you how long I'll be gone, either. I may not be back, but I couldn't leave without saying thank you."

Debbie was puzzled. "For what?"

Colin smiled. "You were the first person here that didn't judge me, or try to dig too deep. You just accepted me for who I was. Let me tell you, coming from where I did, that means a lot."

Debbie opened her mouth to speak, but Colin put a gentle finger to her lips, then kissed the apple of her cheek, just above her scar. She shivered slightly as he pulled away. "I'll be back...if I can," he whispered, and then he was gone--out the door, and onto his bike.

Debbie walked out onto the porch, watching him head North, then right the corner, most certainly headed out of town. Her face set into a firm resolve. "Oh, hell no, Colin." She darted back inside, grabbed her purse and her keys, and ran out to the side driveway, where her Fortuna was parked. She hopped in, started the car, and threw it into gear. "You're not getting away that easily," she muttered, pulling out onto the road and heading out of town after him.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Tierra Robada

Thirty Minutes Later

Debbie watched from further up the highway as Colin stopped in the Cluckin' Bell parking lot at the crossroads. He was moving cautiously, looking in every direction, as if checking for some kind of trap. Debbie spotted another vehicle pulling into the parking lot. It was a jet black Elegy. The car came to a halt at the edge of the lot, and the driver emerged. It was that big bastard from the bar, she realized. Apprehension gnawed at her as she reached into her purse. She extracted her cell phone and dialed a number. On the other end, a voice hollered a greeting over the rumble of a heavy diesel engine.

"Mike, it's Debbie. I need your help, man. I think our boy's in some trouble. I'm at the crossroads in Tierra Robada. Get here as fast as you can."

She flipped the phone shut and watched helplessly as the action unfolded in the parking lot.

"You alone?" Colin asked, not really expecting an honest answer.

The big man nodded. "I am, but my associates aren't far away."

"I'm assuming you picked some associates that won't stick out like sore thumbs, like the one you left to ambush me at my trailer. He learned a hard lesson about the physics of particle board and a fifty caliber round fired from a Desert Eagle."

The man was taken aback. "Mr. Fox, his intention wasn't to harm you."

Colin nodded. "Sure it wasn't. What was his game plan, then? He wanted to be my new roomie?"

The big man shook his head. "You misunderstand. My employer has been looking for you ever since the freighter explosion in San Fierro Bay last year."

Colin laughed. "I bet he has. Well, he didn't get me then, and he won't today either. I'm just here to tell you people to back the fuck off, before I put a hole in the rest of you as well."

The big man sighed. "Mr. Fox, please. My employer doesn't want to harm you. Why won't you just come with me?"

"Because the last time I got in a car with somebody, I lost my mentor and nearly got blown to kingdom come," Colin snapped. "You know what?" he finally decided, whipping his pistol out from the small of his back, "I'm done talking. How many of you fuckers do I have to kill before you'll leave me alone?"

The big man started to answer, but Colin stopped him. He listened again. He knew that sound. He'd heard it before.

The next sound caused him to drop to the ground a split second later. The shot from the high powered sniper rifle zinged overhead and planted itself in the chest of the big man. He collapsed to the ground as Colin ran in a zig-zag pattern for his bike. A well-placed shot struck the gas tank of the Freeway, and Colin dove back in the opposite direction as the bike burst into flames.

"God dammit," he muttered as he ran to the wall of the restaurant. "All my shit was on that bike!" He pressed himself against the wall and brought his gun up, looking for the next attack.

Debbie was trying to take it all in. One second, the two men were just standing there, talking, and then Colin had pulled that huge fucking gun, and then people started running, and dying, and...

The movement in the scrub beyond the building caught her attention. From Colin's blind spot, a man dressed in black was approaching, carrying a submachine gun. She stepped on the gas, roaring toward the restaurant as fast as the four-cylinder engine would take her. "Oh, no, you don't, motherfucker," she gritted, aiming her car at the attacker.

Colin was still trying to get his bearings when he saw the red Fortuna coming in fast from the road. He brought the gun around to aim at the driver, but the car swerved away from him and struck another dark-clad gunman. The man struck the ground with a grunt and didn't move again. The Fortuna reversed, then swung around to pull up alongside him.

Colin peered inside. "Debbie?" he asked, incredulous.

"Get in the fucking car. You can explain all this shit to me later."

Another shot from the sniper rifle kicked up dirt in front of the car. Colin slid across the hood and jumped into the passenger's seat. "Let's get out of here," he suggested.

"Great idea," Debbie agreed, stomping on the gas and peeling out of the parking lot. The Fortuna headed East, toward Sherman Dam. They were a half-mile up the road when an Elegy and two Sanchez bikes pulled onto the road behind them. The passenger in the Elegy leaned out of the window and opened fire, shattering the back window. Colin and Debbie flinched, and Debbie cursed. "My fucking car!"

Colin leaned out of the window and returned fire, blowing out the front tires. The car swerved, struck the side of the highway, and flipped on contact with a boulder. The car sailed upside down over the two motorcycles and came to rest upside down in the scrubland on the other side of the highway. A Sanchez pulled alongside, aiming an Uzi at Debbie, who stepped on the gas to avoid the shots. The bullets instead smashed through the back panel of glass in the driver's window. She muttered under her breath and swerved against the bike. The rider overcompensated and swerved into the path of the Fortuna. The Sanchez smacked into the front of the car and was knocked away as the driver landed hard on the hood. He locked eyes with Colin, and his features were clear even though the helmet. Almond-shaped eyes.

"I should have known," Colin gritted. Debbie slammed on the brakes a moment later, and the rider flew forward into the highway. He rolled several times before stopping, but by the time he had recovered, it was already too late. Debbie had stepped on the gas again, and he met the front bumper of the Fortuna with full force. The car bounced over him as he hit the ground, and there was a crunching of bone and squishing of vital soft tissues.

Colin caught a view of him in the mirror as they drove into the stretch of cliffs that lined the road before the dam. "Ooh, crunchy," he observed, then spotted the other Sanchez swerving around the fallen biker and catching up to them. "One more incoming, Debbie," he warned her.

Debbie stood on the gas as they cleared the cliffs and started over the dam. A Linerunner roared past them, and snapped hard around as soon as they had passed by. Colin turned around in his seat as Debbie smirked.

The trailer of the big truck swung around, and the Sanchez rider was completely caught off guard. The bike sailed under the trailer, but the rider was a little too tall to go along with it. Debbie and Colin caught sight of the bike, sans rider, as it skittered sideways across the pavement.

Debbie's cell phone rang as the truck righted itself and came in behind them across the dam. "Your timing is perfect, Mike."

Montgomery

Three Hours Later

A gentle rain fell as a Linerunner eased up alongside the motel, and two occupants climbed out of the passenger's side door. The big vehicle pulled away slowly, on its way to its next run. The pair entered the front office and shook off the rain.

Colin went to the front desk and asked for a room. The man looked him up and down, then peered over his shoulder at Debbie. "How many hours?" he asked.

Colin glared at him. "The whole night."

The desk clerk grinned. "Got some stamina tonight, huh?"

Colin smiled, then grabbed a handful of the clerk's shirt before the man even knew what had happened. "I want a room. For the whole night." He slipped three hundreds onto the counter for the 50 a night room. "And no questions asked. We weren't here."

The desk clerk looked at him, puzzled. "Who wasn't here?" he inquired innocently, straightening his shirt and deftly pocketing the three bills. He slipped a room key over to Colin, who took it.

Colin nodded. "Good man." He turned back to Debbie. "Let's go."

"I've got to find some transportation tomorrow," Colin noted as they entered the motel room.

"Mike said he'd be back tomorrow, after he finished his overnight run to Angel Pine," Debbie reminded him.

"Yeah, but where I'm headed, I can't be taking Mike with me."

"You mean where WE'RE headed," Debbie corrected him, flopping down onto the bed in a huff.

Colin turned to look at her as he pulled out the shaving kit from the bag of belongings that Mike had lent him for the night. "Debbie, you don't want to get mixed up in all of this stuff. It could get brutal."

"I'm already mixed up in it," she pointed out. "I got involved when you came back to say good-bye. If you hadn't wanted me to follow you, you should have just left before I knew you were gone."

"I..." Colin stopped, then gave up, starting the process of removing a barely-maintained year-old beard. _She has a point, _he realized.

She watched him for a long time as he hacked away at the overgrowth on his face and slowly excavated the jaw underneath. _God, _she thought as his lower face became more defined, _He's even better looking than I thought._

She got up from the bed, walked over to where he stood, and hopped up onto the counter next to him as he broke out the razor to finish the job on his face. "Besides," she tried again, "Why do you keep trying to treat me like a fragile flower? Do you have any idea what kind of shit I saw beneath all that glitz and glamour in Venturas?"

Colin shuddered slightly. He'd heard the stories--some of them several times, on particularly drunken nights down at the bar in Fort Carson. He tried to block them out. Debbie...Debbie deserved better than the hand she'd been dealt back then.

He shook his head. "You might have seen some trouble in your life," he agreed, "but you're still a woman. You deserve to be treated like a woman--like a lady." He splashed the last of the shaving cream off his face, into the sink, and inspected his work. Satisfied, he slipped past her. "I'm gonna take a shower. It's been a long day, and I need some sleep."

He stepped into the bathroom, shut the door, and pulled his clothes off. He climbed into the tub, pulled back the curtain, and started the shower. The cold water hit him first, and he jumped slightly. A moment later, the water warmed up, and he set about lathering up.

He was rinsing his hair five minutes later when the door opened. He froze. There was a sound of fabric hitting the floor, and suddenly Debbie was there, naked, behind him.

"Um, Debbie? What are you..."

He was cut off as Debbie's lips danced across his shoulder, and then the nape of his neck. A pair of arms surrounded him, hands grasping his pecs. The hands slid downward, running over his abdominal muscles, then grasping his manhood. He reacted almost immediately, and Debbie guided him around to face her. He looked her up and down, drinking in her toned and tan body, and she smiled.

"Do you know how long it's been since _anyone_ treated me like a woman instead of a plaything?" she asked, voice hoarse with emotion.

Colin brushed a lock of yellow hair away from her face, looking into her watery green eyes. "You deserve it. Not just tonight, but every night."

She exhaled--a sharp, shuddering breath, and her mouth found his. After a long moment, she whispered into his ear, "Please love me."

Colin kissed her head and guided her out of the shower. They tenderly dried each other, and Colin lifted her up in his arms. He carried her into the bedroom, turned out the light, and whispered, "Your wish is my command..."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The Next Morning

A knock at the door awakened Debbie from her slumber. She sat up in bed, the sheets falling away from her breasts, as she tried to get her bearings. A diesel engine rumbled outside. "You might want to cover those up," suggested a voice from her right. She jumped, turning to face the source of the words, and Colin laughed.

"It might be too much for Mike to take, as lonely as he's been for the past couple of years," he added as she made a face and scampered out of bed to get her clothes. A few minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom in her sundress she'd worn the day before.

"What time did you wake up?" she asked.

Colin shrugged. "About oh-four-hundred, same as always," he replied. "I went down to convenience store on the corner, grabbed some coffee, and made a couple of phone calls."

"To who?" Debbie asked.

"An old friend," he answered as he opened the door. "Let's go. We've got a meeting to get to."

Debbie followed him out to the Linerunner, where Mike waited for them.

Los Santos

Four Hours Later

He had tried.

He had explained, he had pleaded, he had insisted, and he had outright refused, but there was nothing for it.

Mike was bound and determined not to be left behind.

"You and Debbie are the best friends I've ever had," he had told Colin. "I've told you a million times, if either one of you ever got into trouble, I'd be there for you. Now that's happened, I'm not gonna back out now. I'm a man of my word."

Somewhere between Palomino Creek and Playa del Seville, Colin had given up trying to talk his friend out of joining them. Now here they were, driving a rented Huntley through Los Santos, bound for San Fierro.

"Tell me again why we're picking our nose through our asshole to get to San Fierro?" Debbie asked.

"Because they'll be watching for us to take the bridges into San Fierro from further North," Colin explained. "I'm pretty sure they tapped the phone in Montgomery."

"Aren't you being a little paranoid?" Debbie asked.

"Obviously not," Colin observed, looking in the side mirror.

"What's the matter?" she asked quietly.

"We're being tailed," Colin replied. "Stay cool. They won't make a scene here. They'll follow us out of town and tail us until we're away from the public eye before they make a move. We're safe for now--just be ready."

Debbie nodded, and she maintained a normal speed around the airport.

Colin checked his mirror again. The little black Jester was two cars behind them and tailing them into the tunnel. They emerged on the other side and rolled alongside Verona Beach. The Jester dropped back and made a right hand turn toward the Marina. Colin kept watching, and a block later, they were picked up by a red Banshee.

The Huntley passed by Santa Maria Beach, and the black Jester pulled onto the highway in front of them just before they reached the bridge leading to the Flint Intersection. Just past the bridge, Colin spotted a brown Landstalker pulling onto the highway alongside them.

"Just what I was expecting," he muttered.

"What's going on?" Mike asked from the back seat.

"It's a typical maneuver for a snatch," Colin explained. "We're tailed by one car from our origin, then they pull the switch partway along to keep us from getting suspicious. The car that leaves the tail comes back in front of us, and then a heavier vehicle pulls alongside a short while later. That's the rammer."

"The WHAT?" Debbie asked, just as the Landstalker swerved. There was a crunch as the two vehicles collided, and Debbie struggled to recover. Colin pulled the Desert Eagle from his lap and fired twice. The driver's head jerked to the side as the bullets caught him in the head, and the Landstalker swerved off the highway, rolling into a wheat field and coming to a slow stop.

"Strange," Colin observed. "I would have thought they'd see that coming, since I've been so hard to catch." His musings were cut short as the Banshee pulled off the road ahead of them and let them pass. Ahead were two Ranchers, parked nose-to-nose across the road. Debbie slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting the two SUV's, and Colin jacked another clip into the Desert Eagle. Two men climbed out of each Rancher, and Colin turned to Debbie.

"Back it up," he suggested. She nodded, slamming the Huntley into reverse.

"Hold on," she advised Mike in the back seat. The SUV lurched backwards toward the Jester as Colin leaned out of the window and took aim. He fired off six shots, puncturing the gas tank of one of the Ranchers. As the men scampered out of the way, the Ranchers exploded into twin balls of flame. At the same instant, the Huntley's rear end made contact with the right front bumper of the Jester, whose driver was still trying to react to the sudden shift in control of the situation. The impact sent the car twisting backwards in a clockwise spin, and the driver tried to accelerate away as the car slid off the road. The tires settled into the loose dirt of the shoulder and became mired as the driver revved desperately. Colin nodded, and Debbie shifted back into drive, pulling away.

Mike clapped. "Well done, guys."

Colin chuckled. "Don't celebrate yet. That Banshee's coming up fast."

Debbie's eyes flashed to the rearview mirror. Sure enough, as they made their way up into the hills, the Banshee was catching up to them. Debbie started to accelerate, and Colin shook his head. "Don't. This is a high-profile vehicle. Too much speed, and we could go over the side."

"But they're trying to kill you," Debbie protested.

Colin shook his head. "I don't think so. If they'd have wanted me dead, they wouldn't have needed the Landstalker or the Ranchers. One Jester could have caught up with us, and one well-placed bullet from alongside could have taken me out. These guys want me alive, for whatever reason, and the one guy back there in the Banshee isn't enough to accomplish that. He knows that. That's why he's hanging back. Look."

Debbie checked again. The Banshee was tailing behind them, maintaining speed.

"Pull over."

Debbie looked back at Colin like he was nuts.

"Trust me," he insisted.

Debbie sighed, shaking her head. After another few moments, she slowed down and pulled off to the side. The Banshee pulled in behind them.

Colin climbed out, gun at his side. The Asian man in the Banshee got out as well.

"Let me guess," Colin began, "You guys are just trying to talk."

The Asian man nodded.

Colin looked around.

"What are you looking for, Mr. Fox?" the man asked.

"The sniper," Colin replied, still looking around. "This feels like deja vu."

The Banshee driver shook his head. "If we'd wanted you dead, you wouldn't still be breathing," he assured him.

Colin laughed. "Don't bet the farm on that one, Dim Sum."

The Asian man frowned, and opened his mouth to speak, but the roar of an engine from around the bend cut him off. Both men turned in the direction of the sound, and Colin spotted the black Cheetah coming up the road toward them.

Colin's gun snapped up. "Your backup, I presume? I guess I was wrong about you guys after all."

The Banshee driver held up his hands to protest, but Colin wasn't hearing it. As he pumped three rounds into the man, he wondered, _how could I have been that far off base?_

As the Cheetah ate up the road between them, Colin ran back to the Huntley. As he jumped into the passnger's seat, he barked, "Drive!"

"I thought they weren't trying to kill you," Debbie shot back snarkily as she put her foot down, scratching gravel on the way out onto the road.

"I was wrong," he admitted. "Mark it on the calendar."

The Cheetah was almost on top of them when Debbie jerked the handbrake on the Huntley and fishtailed it into the tunnel. The Cheetah overshot the turn, and Colin heard a screeching of tires behind them. He released his grip on the door handle and muttered, "Jesus Christ!"

Debbie laughed. "I told you, I didn't just turn tricks in Venturas. I learned a few as well."

"So I see," Colin replied as the Cheetah roared into the tunnel behind them. It began making up lost ground quickly, and a shot echoed through the tunnel a moment later. The back window shattered, and everyone ducked.

"I realize I'm a little late in asking, but did you get the insurance policy on this rental, Deb?" Colin asked as he took aim. Mike stayed down.

"After what we've been up to for the past couple of days? You bet your ass I did," she shot back.

"Good," Colin murmured as he took careful aim. He squeezed off two shots, puncturing the front driver's side tire of the Cheetah. At the high rate of speed the sports car was traveling, the sudden loss of control was too much for the driver. He slammed into the side of the tunnel, caromed off, and struck the other wall. Flames erupted from under the hood, and the driver yanked his door open to flee. The flames reached the gas tank, and the occupants of the Huntley watched as the explosion belched through the tunnel behind them, incinerating the fleeing driver and taking several other cars with it.

"Nice," Mike commented.

"Thanks," Colin replied.

"So, who's this guy we're meeting, and where's he waiting for us?" Mike asked.

"His name's Ken Rosenberg. He's an attorney I knew back in Vice," Colin explained. "He's waiting for us up at Missionary Hill."

Debbie was incredulous. She stared openly at Colin for a moment before making a left hand turn, away from the entrance to Easter Bay Airport. "We've been chased, shot at, and faced death in a wide variety of ways, and your choice for backup is a LAWYER?"

"You'd have to understand, Deb," Colin tried to explain. "It's not so much who Rosenberg is, it's who he knows. If anyone's got the connections to help us out, it's this guy. Don't let his appearance fool you. He's tied in with more powerful people than you can imagine."

Debbie was unconvinced as they made their way up Missionary Hill, but she decided to let the matter rest. A few minutes later, they were pulling into the scenic overlook.

There were two vehicles in the parking lot as the Huntley pulled into a space. The first was a Journey, presumably belonging to the family of five standing at the overlook, snapping pictures of the San Fierro cityscape beyond. The second was a Washington. Its sole occupant was sitting in the driver's seat, rocking back and forth nervously. As soon as Colin and the others climbed out of the Huntley, Rosenberg got out of the Washington and walked over, eyes moving wildly in their sockets and head on a swivel.

"Colin," Ken greeted him. "Good to see you again. You're looking well!"

Colin nodded. "Thanks, Ken. You're...I'm glad to see ya. What have you been up to?"

Ken shrugged. "Little of this, little of that. Been helping this rapper with his career."

"A rapper, huh?" Colin asked, honestly surprised. "Didn't figure you for the type." He was in a hurry to move on, but the lawyer's statement caught him off guard for a second.

Ken shrugged again, still looking around nervously. "Well, you know, I had to find some new money making opportunities after what happened to Tommy and all..." he trailed off, seeing the look on Colin's face. "Sorry, Colin. I know how close you guys were. Hey, those were good times, huh? Back in the day, we ran Vice City, huh?"

Colin caught Debbie's reaction out of the corner of his eye as she made the connection. Her life in Venturas had kept her in touch with the pulse of the criminal elements. The names _Tommy_ and _Vice City_ coming into the conversation that closely together sparked her recollection, and she looked at Colin with new eyes.

A pair of black Elegy coupes pulled in on either side of the Huntley, and Colin saw the four Asian men climb out. His head jerked back to Ken, and his eyes narrowed.

"They said you'd resist, but I assured them you'd come quietly," Ken offered up as an explanation.

The Asians approached, and Colin reached for the pistol under his jacket. "Colin, come on, pal," Ken urged. "There are innocent bystanders, man." His head jerked toward the family at the wall.

Colin gritted his teeth, considering. Finally, he pulled his hand slowly away from the butt of the gun. The Asians reached the four of them, and the leader spoke.

"Mr. Fox, we need you to come with us."

Colin looked around, considering his options. The Asians stood between them and the Huntley. Ken was behind him, but he wasn't a threat. He could shoot his way out, but there were the civilians to consider...

"What if I refuse?" Colin asked quietly.

The leader smiled. "We'd be surprised if you didn't." He nodded to one of the other Asians, who yanked a slienced 9mm free from a shoulder holster and jammed it into Debbie's side. Mike made a move to stop the man, but an Asian next to him lashed out with a kick to his knee that buckled his leg.

"Let's not make this difficult, Mr. Fox," the leader advised. "Come with us. They can leave, of their own free will. No harm will come to them."

"If he goes, we go," Debbie insisted. Mike nodded, getting to his feet.

Colin shook his head. "Not this time, guys. You all stay. Mike, if I don't come back, keep an eye on Debbie, will you?"

"Colin, don't say things like that," Debbie protested.

"Yeah, man," Mike agreed. "You'll be back."

Colin shrugged, and the leader escorted him away, guiding him to the passenger door of the Elegy. Colin climbed in, and the driver closed the door behind him. He took one more look back at Debbie, who was fighting back tears as the other Asians escorted them back to the Huntley. He saw one of the Asians get into the driver's side of the SUV and pull away. The others got into the remaining Elegy and followed the Huntley. Colin turned back to look at the leader. "Where are they taking them?"

"To safety. Where you're going, they can't go." The leader drove on down the hill toward the airport.

"Where am I going?" Colin demanded.

"To have a chat with the boss," the leader replied.

"Then what?" Colin demanded. "What if I don't like what your boss has to say?"

The leader shrugged. "Then we'll stop trying to protect you from the men who are trying to kill you, and you can take your chances on your own."

Colin did a double take. "If you're not the ones trying to kill us, then who are you?"

The leader was silent as he pulled through the gates leading to the runways and around to the ramp. They climbed the ramp onto the runways, and drove to a Shamal that sat sedately on the tarmac. They slowed to a stop, and Ken pulled in behind them in the Washington. He got out and followed Colin and the Asian onto the plane.

As Colin entered the private jet, he heard a voice from his past.

"You're a hard man to catch, Colin."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Somewhere Over the Ocean

"So, let's make sure we're on track here. You've spent the past year in hiding from the Da Nang Boys in Fort Carson, living out of a trailer and spending your time in a bar. Do I have that straight?"

Colin nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that pretty much covers it."

"Except for the part where you killed at least a dozen of my men, who were trying to bring you into protective custody," the black-suited man interjected from across the table.

"Yeah, aside from that," Colin agreed sheepishly. "I suppose if I said you guys all look alike, it would only rub salt in the wound, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Wu Zi agreed. "But let's consider it water under the bridge. You're here now, and that's what matters. Although, I didn't anticipate such an eclectic entourage."

Colin grinned. "Yeah, I just kind of collect friends from all over."

"Regardless," Wu Zi pointed out, "they are loyal, and that speaks volumes in their favor."

"Yes, it does," he agreed. "So," he began again, changing the subject, "where are we going, anyway?"

"You've attracted too much attention in San Andreas," Wu Zi informed him. "We're going to have to kill you."

Colin tensed. Wu Zi seemed to sense his reaction and smiled. "I think you misunderstand. You're not going to die, but we have to kill Colin Fox."

Colin relaxed, but only a little. He was still confused.

"The Yakuza and the Da Nang Boys will not stop hunting you until you're dead. We're simply going to appease them by giving them a body," Wu Zi elaborated.

"But why are they after me?" Colin demanded. "I disappeared after the explosion in San Fierro Bay last year. I've been underground since then. I'm not a threat to them."

"Actually, you are, Colin," Ken piped up as he stepped out from behind a curtain toward the back of the cabin. "You see, Tommy never signed over control of his businesses in Vice City to Hai and the Da Nang Boys, so their hold on Vice is based on pure force. Tommy Vercetti's estate is still intact."

"What estate?" Colin asked. "Without the businesses, what is there to be had?"

"Do you remember the night you got arrested, Colin?" Wu Zi asked.

Colin nodded. "Yeah. We were out at the docks, picking up a box from some Triad members enroute to Liberty."

"Tommy never told you what was in that box, did he?" Wu Zi realized.

Colin shook his head. "No. No, he didn't."

"The Triads had been working for the past few months on perfecting the process of minting untraceable U.S. dollars. It had been done in the past, but required large machines and conspicuous amounts of space to process the bills. The Triads had created a small, portable minting press. It was in that box."

Colin's eyes widened. "You're kidding me."

Wu Zi shook his head. "I assure you, I am not. Aside from the money it could create, the press itself was worth a hundred times its weight in gold. Tommy could have increased his empire exponentially without ever having to own another business, but he refused. He insisted on diversification. He wanted the minting press as his ace in the hole, his backup."

"He must have been psychic," Ken jumped in. "That's exactly what it ended up being. Even without the mansion, or any of his property, Tommy Vercetti's estate is still worth at least fifty million dollars."

Colin whistled. "That's a lot of money, but it still doesn't explain why they want me dead."

Ken glanced at Wu Zi and pulled a folded document from the inside pocket of his suit coat. He unfolded it and slid it across the table to Colin as he spoke.

"Because you're the heir to Tommy Vercetti's empire."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Sherman Reservoir

The traffic over Sherman Dam was thin that night. A Journey made its way slowly across the massive structure. Inside the RV, James and Kim Williams sat up front. Behind them, on the semicircular bench around their dining table, sat Gina, their sixteen year-old daughter, and Lauren, their twelve year-old daughter. Lauren was snapping photographs of the dam through the window, and Gina was trying to figure out how to look hot and appealing to any boys she might meet during the trip, while riding in an RV with her parents and siblings. The family was into their third day of the trip, and she had so far been unsuccessful. Across the RV from the girls sat Ben, the Williams' youngest child. The ten year-old was glued to his portable video game. The beeps and whistles of the game were annoying the hell out of Kim, but James refused to let it bother him. He just turned K-DST up as "Freebird" played through the tinny speakers. Gina rolled her eyes and gave up all hope of ever meeting any cute guys on this trip.

James was determined to make this trip to San Andreas the best one their family had experienced. They hadn't been on a vacation since 1986. James, then an associate with an accounting firm in Alderney City, had saved up for a year to take his family to Vice City. It was supposed to be a whole week of sunshine, surf, and sand, until Hurricane Hermoine changed everything. They had spent the better part of that week holed up in their hotel room, and when they did go out, they had to dodge insane locals and recovery teams.

That was all in the past, though, and James was happy to close the book on that awkward chapter. Now, he was a junior partner at the firm, making more money, and he and his family were going to be spending the next ten days traversing the great state of San Andreas, taking in all there was to see. Sure, he had admitted to his wife, the apparent kidnapping they had witnessed on Missionary Hill on their first day had been a little unnerving, but no one had actually fired any bullets. They hadn't been in any danger, he had assured her. That was just a fluke. And sure, it was a mild annoyance that the bed and breakfast in Fort Carson that they had booked months in advance was inexplicably closed when they pulled up. It was just a quick jaunt back over the dam to the RV Park in Las Barrancas. The rest of the trip was bound to be better.

"Daddy, I think that plane's going to crash!"

James turned to look in the direction his younger daughter was pointing. Sure enough, a set of wing lights was coming in from the Northwest, moving awfully fast, and flying awfully low. It looked as though the jet might even hit the dam. James sped up unconsciously, hoping to make it off the dam before what seemed like an inevitable collision took place. At the last moment, however, the jet soared just over the RV, shaking the whole vehicle as it passed mere feet above it. James and his wife turned to the driver's side window, and the girls scampered across the RV in back, to spot the descending aircraft in the darkness. They heard the whine of the twin engines fade slightly as it continued its fall into the reservoir, and suddenly the night turned to day as the jet slammed into the cliffs beyond the dam and exploded in a ball of flame.

"Holy cow!" Ben breathed.

"Honey," Kim began.

"Wow, wasn't that something? Hey, kids, aren't you excited about going to Glory Hole Theme Park tomorrow?" James essayed.

The kids responded with more amazement at the explosion, and Kim met his attempts with stony silence. James accepted defeat and drove on without another word.

Five hundred yards away, and a moment later, the waters of Sherman Reservoir gave way to a falling object with a splash. A jet black parachute settled on the water's surface a moment later, and began its slow descent into the depths as its owner cut himself loose from its harness. As quietly as possible, the man swam over to a small cove, just past a bridge. Waiting for him on one of the rocks at the water's edge, as described earlier, was a suitcase. The man grabbed the case, climbed to higher ground, settled onto a rock, and opened the case.

Inside were a variety of items, including a black three-piece suit, a pair of color contacts, a pair of glasses, hair dye, a pair of lace-up Oxfords, a Glock 9mm, a cell phone, a key ring, and a driver's license, with the name VINCENT SPENCER written on it. The picture showed a man that bore some small resemblence to the one holding the suitcase, but the man in the picture had a beard, dark brown eyes, jet black hair, and wore glasses On top of all of these items was a map with a note attached.

_Follow this map to the safe house that I've marked. Stay there for a while, until you look like this picture. When you're ready, use the cell phone to call this number. I'll send someone to pick you up. Don't worry about your friends. They're safe._

_-Wu Zi Mu_

The man took a moment to memorize the map, and then put it back inside the suitcase. He closed the case, climbed up to the top of the hill, and began his new life.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Tierra Robada

One Week Later

A black Stretch rolled slowly down the dirt path toward the run-down shack in the middle of the scrubland. As it pulled up in front of the building, a man in a black suit stepped out and approached. The driver got out and opened the back door for him. The man climbed into the limo and settled into the seat as the driver got back in. The car began rolling again, and they were soon headed Southeast.

As the Stretch rolled past the turnoff for Fort Carson, Vincent Spencer gazed out at the small town and felt a pang of guilt. There had been a television set at the safe house, and the jet crash had been headline news the morning after. His name had run along the bottom of the screen, along with that of Wu Zi Mu and the pilot--although there hadn't been one, as he'd parachuted out over the abandoned airstrip north of Area 69 along with Wu Zi. He knew damn well that the entire world considered him dead, and that world included his friends. He wished he could call them, but Wu Zi insisted that it would put them--and Colin--in danger. They were safe, he had assured him, and that had to suffice.

"Are you all right, Mr. Spencer?" asked the driver.

Vincent nodded. "I'm fine, thank you." He poured himself a glass of scotch from the bar, and the Stretch rolled on to Las Venturas.

Four Dragons Casino

Thirty Minutes Later

Vincent strode across the gaming floor to the elevators and slipped his key into a slot next to the far left set of double doors. The doors slid open, and once inside, he inserted a different key into another slot inside the elevator. The car began moving, and he made his way up the tower to the top, coming to a stop outside the penthouse. The doors slid open, and Vincent stepped into an enclave of opulence.

Red walls were lined with gold inlay at the top and bottom, save for one. The East wall was one giant mural. It showed a bearded man, dressed in yellow, astride a huge Oriental dragon, riding through the clouds. Below the dragon were rolling hills, lined with trees, and a river. The detail was exquisite, and Vincent had to walk over for a better look.

"It's Qin Shi Huang Ti," a voice spoke up from behind him. Vincent whirled around, hand already reaching for the Glock under his suit coat. He spied Wu Zi standing beside a desk on the other side of the room and exhaled slowly, relaxing.

"The Yellow Emperor," Wu Zi finished.

"Jesus," Vincent muttered. "Aren't blind people supposed to make some kind of noise, or at least bump into stuff?"

"Sorry," Wu Zi replied. "I'll try harder next time."

"Don't worry about it." Vincent walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over Las Venturas to the West. "What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked. "Aren't you supposed to be dead? Don't you think it might attract some attention, you being here at your own casino and all?"

Wu Zi shrugged. "I came in last night in disguise. I'm not leaving this penthouse. And it's not my casino anymore, Mr. Spencer. It's yours. That's what the documents in that safe have to say," Wu Zi indicated a blank wall. Vincent looked over another ten feet to the left and found the safe to which Wu Zi referred.

"I signed over ownership of this casino to Spencer Enterprises two days ago. Of course, the shame of financial ruin was just too much for me, so I had to take the honorable route, and end my life."

Vincent nodded. "And the reason you took Colin Fox with you on your one-way flight?"

Wu Zi smiled. "Colin was my last hope for liquidity. When he refused to sign over ownership of Tommy Vercetti's estate to me, I decided that if I couldn't have Vercetti's money, no one would."

Vincent chuckled. "I had no idea you were so desperate, and so evil, Wu Zi."

Wu Zi acknowledged the backhanded compliment with a nod of the head and a half-smile.

"We need to get down to business," Ken piped up as he entered the room through a door at the back. "Before we get started, though, our other guest wants to sit in."

Wu Zi reacted with surprise, which threw Vincent off guard. "Is he sure?"

Ken smiled. "He said if he can't trust the people assembled in this room, then he might as well be dead already."

Wu Zi nodded. "Fair enough."

The door slid open again, and Vincent's jaw hit the floor.

"Long time no see, kid."


End file.
